The story we just heard in our gospel reading is a little strange. Jesus’ disciples have been struggling all night in a boat battered by the waves. Suddenly they see Jesus walking towards them on the water. Not surprisingly, they are terrified.

That is pretty striking. But then comes the most striking part of the story. Jesus says, “Take heart…do not be afraid.” And Peter really does take heart because joins Jesus on the water. It is an heroic act of faith.

Now, Peter couldn’t stay focused on Jesus, and he began to sink, and he called out to Jesus for help, and Jesus fussed at him a little bit. But what sticks with me in all this is that Jesus called Peter out of the boat, and Peter answered Jesus’ call.

So, what does that mean for us?

For starters, remember that Peter and several of the other disciples were originally fishermen. They made their living in boats. This night was unusual in a lot of ways, but the fact that they spent the night in a boat was normal for them (see, for example, John 21:3-4). As this story begins, they are experiencing the kinds of trials and tribulations that come in the course of their ordinary lives.

We experience trials and tribulations as a part of our ordinary lives too. And, as we do, Jesus comes walking towards us, offering us peace, telling us not to be afraid.

And—this is the point—Jesus sometimes calls us out of our “boat,” out of our normal routine. Jesus calls us to take a chance, to step out in faith, to walk with him on sometimes stormy waters.

This week, the Episcopal Church commemorates a man who did that: Jonathan Daniels. In 1965 Daniels died for the cause of Civil Rights and to save the life of a young Black woman named Ruby Sales.[1]

I will tell you a bit about Daniels’ life and his martyrdom, which is inspiring. But in light of our gospel reading, what really interests me is, how did Daniels become the man he was? What enabled Daniels to do what he did, to get out of his “boat” and walk on the stormy waters with Jesus?

Daniels grew up in Keene, New Hampshire, the son of a Congregationalist doctor. I have no idea what kind of life Daniels’ father envisioned for him, but I imagine he was like most fathers: he wanted his son to follow more or less in his footsteps, but perhaps to do a little better. That was Daniels’ “boat,” the “normal” life that one might anticipate for a child like him.

As a young man, Daniels joined the Episcopal Church and, shortly after graduating from College, he felt a call to the priesthood. In 1963, he entered the Episcopal Theological School in Cambridge, MA.

I am guessing that Daniels’ decision to become an Episcopal priest surprised his Congregationalist Doctor father. But becoming an Episcopal priest is not such a strange thing. Becoming an Episcopal priest just meant a slightly different trajectory, a new normal, a different “boat.”

When he entered seminary, Daniels had no intention of joining the Civil Rights Movement. The Episcopal Bishop of Alabama at the time was a man named Carpenter, and Bishop Carpenter explicitly refused to welcome Civil Rights workers into his state. Daniels opposed the idea of entering Alabama without the permission of the local Bishop.

So, in 1963, Daniels was a faithful and idealistic young man pursuing a good and honorable career. But something changed for Daniels over the next year or so. Daniels’ faith deepened, and with it his willingness to act on his beliefs, to suffer for his beliefs if need be. Daniels decided to get out of his boat, to join the Civil Rights Movement after all.

Here is how Daniels himself described that change. “I began to know in my bones and sinews that I had been truly baptized into the Lord’s death and resurrection…with them, the black men and white men [and women!], with all life….We are indelibly and unspeakably one.”

I wish I knew how Daniels came to feel that unity with all people in his bones and sinews because that surely is part of the calling we all share, and we don’t all get there.

Daniels and several other students from ETS left for Alabama in March 1965, planning to stay for a single weekend. And in Selma, Alabama that process of deepening continued. Daniels heard Jesus calling him out of his boat, onto the stormy sea.

Daniels said, “Something …happened to me in Selma….I could not stand by in benevolent dispassion any longer without compromising everything I know and love and value. The imperative was too clear, the stakes too high, my own identity was called too nakedly into question.” When his classmates returned home, Daniels stayed.

That August Daniels joined protesters in Fort Deposit, Alabama. On August 14, the day the Episcopal Church sets aside for commemorating Daniels, the protesters were arrested and transported to a jail in Hayneville. Conditions were grim, but the protesters were sustained by their faith. They passed the time singing and praying.

After six days, the prisoners were released. While they waited for a ride, Daniels, Ruby Sales, and two others went to a store to buy a drink. They were confronted at the entrance to the store by shotgun-wielding Tom Coleman, who threatened the group. As Coleman prepared to fire, Daniels pushed Ruby Sales out of the way and took the full brunt of the shot.

I’ll be brief about the sequel. Coleman was acquitted of all charges and lived another thirty years. I don’t know whether or not he ever expressed remorse for his action. I certainly hope so. Ruby Sales went on to attend Daniels’ seminary, ETS, and then became a human rights advocate in Washington DC.

But what about Daniels himself? What lesson can we learn from him?

As I think about Daniels, I am of course impressed with his courage, the courage that enabled him to give his life to save the life of another.

But what sticks with me even more is Daniels’ journey from privilege in Keene, New Hampshire to martyrdom in Hayneville, Alabama. Somehow Daniels came to understand that his baptism into Christ’s death and resurrection was pushing him out of his comfort zone, out of his normal routine. Daniels felt called into the world, called to fight for the unity of all people in Jesus Christ, called to fight for social justice, even at the cost of his life.

And as Daniels followed his calling, as Daniels lived into his baptism, his commitment to Jesus Christ and his commitment to Civil Rights grew. They grew together. As Daniels said, he “could not stand by in benevolent dispassion any longer without compromising everything I know and love and value….My own identity was called too nakedly into question.”

That is a powerful statement. As we face the many challenges of our own time, Daniels’ example invites us to reflect on what we know and love and value, on what Jesus may be calling us to do, on what is our part in God’s mission for the world.

My prayer is that we, like Daniels, like the apostle Peter long before Daniels, will heed Christ’s call to get out of our boat, and to live as God’s beloved children called to serve the world in God’s name. In the name of Jesus Christ, who gave his life that all might live. Amen.

[1] Thanks to Glen Birk, who provided me most of this information about Jonathan Daniels.